Pride and Joy
by subversivegrrl
Summary: Carol, in exile.
1. Chapter 1

_He wasn't coming._

She had waited, believing he would. Believing he might. Believing he'd been delayed. Believing, finally… that he'd turned his back on her, and he wasn't coming to find her, after all.

And she was proud of him. It nearly killed her - it might yet literally kill her, if she wasn't careful - but she was proud, so proud of the man he'd become, that he had made a choice to stay and take care of the rest of their family. He had put their needs in front of his own, certainly in front of hers, and chosen the good of the many, and she knew that was for the best. _So why did it feel like she couldn't breathe most of the time?_

It hadn't been a good life at the prison, but it hadn't been bad, and there had been times when, if she didn't look too closely at the details, she almost thought she might have been happy. Thinking about those times was what got her through the thin dark hours of the night when she lay awake and waited for morning.

The hardest part was that she cared, probably would for the rest of her life, what happened to them all. She wished for a magic mirror so she could watch them from a distance, see them going about their lives, healing and growing and falling in love and getting over whatever they felt from her absence.

There had never seemed to be enough time, the right time, to say what should have been said months ago - _I need you, I love you, I never want to be apart from you again. _Too much time spent fixing things and righting things and worrying about things and always thinking _we'll get around to it, I'll take what I have and be patient, this is good, this is okay, I can live with it. _Such a liar. Such a fool.

Every day she felt herself become a little more insubstantial, fading away, like without someone to look at her she would just disappear. She ate, and drank, and washed her face when she could, and caught glimpses of herself in reflective surfaces; that should have been enough to convince her that she still existed, but she was beginning to feel like she could lift her arms and the wind would carry her away. And he wouldn't be there to catch her when she fell. She had thought he would always be there to catch her.

_Where are you now?_ _What are you doing? Do you think of me? Do you grieve for me? Did I ever bring you the kind of joy I felt with you?_

_No one tells you that it's almost over and you should treasure the moments you have left. There are no warning signs, _caution, sharp turn ahead,_ just an abrupt stop, and you're alone._ It should probably have been terrifying, but somehow the feeling escaped her.

She told herself it was self-indulgent, but on the morning of the sixth day she simply got in the car and drove east, into the rising sun, thinking, _I'll just take one last look, say goodbye, and then I'll go find out what's left of me._ For maybe a heartbeat when she stopped at the point that overlooked the prison she thought, _what are all those people doing out in the yard?_ And then she saw the ruin her home had become, and the figures milling around it turned into an army of the endless dead.


	2. Chapter 2

_Cold, so cold... _  
_buzzing in her ears _  
_hang onto the car door, sit down, breathe_

She turned her body and fell into the seat, dropping her head between her knees and trying to unlock the weight in her chest so she could get some air. _Think, Carol, think - _

_driving, driving, always away from there _  
_they used a tank _  
_hyperventilating_  
_stopping the car to put her head down again and keep from blacking out_  
_think, carol, think_  
_where were they supposed to meet_  
_what would it mean if she went there and found no one?_

**Breathe, Carol.** Her head came up in startled reflex as she heard his voice. Right there. Right in her ear. She instinctively reached for his hand and found only the console between the seats. _Terrific. Now I'm hallucinating._ The shock cleared her head, though, and she dragged a deep, shuddering breath through her nose, finding a calm place in the center of herself where she could think again. She checked the mirrors and the road ahead and saw nothing to alarm her; set her face toward the west, and put the car back in gear.

* * *

A little further on she turned south, headed for the abandoned farm that had been their closest bug-out point. For once she was grateful for the perpetual discussions and planning sessions where they wrestled with the high probability that eventually, someone or something would make it impossible for them to stay in their home. She knew exactly where she was going, and she had a good idea what to do next if she got there and found they'd already been and gone. She wasn't prepared for what she found.

Cut into the wall of the barn, looking for all the world like a child's idle vandalism, were a crudely-rendered owl, a circle with four radiating arms, and off to the side a five-petaled flower with a wide, round center. The owl was a sort of in-joke among the original survivors, and had been chosen as their symbol to mark any messages because it was easy to draw. The circle was a compass, and Carol could see now that there was an extra mark in the northwest quadrant. The flower… was a message for her alone. _Daryl._

Their cache of emergency supplies was empty, as she had expected, and somehow that gave her more hope than she had thought possible. If only he had made it this far, some of it would have been left for anyone who followed. If it was empty now, that meant that others had cleaned it out. _Unless he had done so himself, knowing no one else was coming._ Strangers could have raided it, before or since, but it had been well-hidden enough that she doubted it, and if it made her feel better to think so - well, she was happy to continue deluding herself for a while longer. The one thing she was absolutely sure of was that he had been here, alive, and in one supreme, ridiculous act of faith he had left her a sign that only she would understand. How could she do anything but try to follow it?

She checked the car's fuel gauge and felt a twinge of uneasiness at the level it showed. That was something she would have remedy sooner rather than later, and she cursed herself silently for having neglected something so basic and essential. _See what happens when you're busy losing your mind, Carol? Screw-ups like that can get you killed._ And for the first time in days, she realized that she wanted to stay alive.


	3. Chapter 3

It was nearly midday when she stopped the car. A hundred feet away, the gate blocking the entrance to the old school bus depot remained closed and chained, but she could see tire tracks in the dust. Tracks that turned in. None leading out again. She closed her eyes and said a silent _thank you_ to any power that might have been listening.

She let the car coast into the drive, put it in park and let it idle. Minutes passed while she tried to keep her breathing slow and even, trying not to think about what awaited her. She flipped up the sun visor and leaned forward to let them see her face. She was just about to turn the engine off and save the gas when the chain rattled, and the gate swung open. "Carol?" said Maggie.

She stepped out of the car, keeping the door between herself and the gate. "Okay if I come in?"

She moved quickly to catch the girl, who flung herself, weeping, into Carol's arms. All Carol could do was hold her for a moment and make soothing sounds. She was afraid if she tried to speak they'd both be there, crying, when the walkers arrived to make them their next meal. "Maggie, honey, we need to get inside."

* * *

They were waiting when Maggie brought her through the door, weapons trained on whomever was going to walk through it. She saw the shock run through them, and everyone spoke at once. _How did you where have we thought it was awful Daddy Rick Michonne Judith…_ She put up a hand against the tumult.

"Guess you got my note." His voice was steady, warm. She tried to swallow against the lump that was stuck in her throat. She took one step toward him, and the others parted like a wave, leaving her stranded in the middle of the room, looking at him.

_He looked like death warmed over. He looked like… what he'd always been. Her shelter in the storm. _

She met his eyes, and walked into his arms.

* * *

She didn't know how long they stayed like that, wrapped around each other, her lips in the hollow of his throat, his face buried in her shoulder, breathing each other in. The adrenaline that had carried her all morning faded, and her legs began to quiver. He felt the tremors and pulled back, his eyes holding a thousand questions, but he started with the simplest. "What do you need?"

She smiled, grateful for an easy choice. "Water would be good. And I'd like to sit down."

* * *

Sitting down was interrupted by the need for hugging, and crying, and learning the terrible details of the prison's fall. She counted the faces and tallied the missing. _Rick, Carl, Judith… Michonne. Hershel, dead at the Governor's hands. Tyreese, Lizzie, Mika, the rest of her storytime kids._ She couldn't even connect faces to most of the other names.


	4. Chapter 4

"You're okay?"

"Mm-hm." He'd brought her water. Her mouth was still dry.

"Rick told me." _So we're going to get into it._

"You didn't believe it." It wasn't a question.

"How could I?"

The silence hung between them like a curtain.

"So what's the truth? Did you kill them? "

"No."

"Why'n't you just tell him that?"

"Like he would have believed me? Look - he'd made up his mind. He obviously planned from the start that I wouldn't be coming back. He waited until you weren't around to interfere. I'm sorry, I know he's like a brother to you, but he set me up." It all came rushing out of her, and she couldn't seem to stop it.

"I should have seen what he was planning and never let him get me out on the road alone. Once we were out there, he wouldn't let me back in the car, and I was so shocked, I couldn't think how to handle it, how to convince him I was telling the truth and not just making something up to get him to let me back in, so I gave up and went along with it. I thought…" and she choked, terrified of what she was about to say.

"You thought what?"

_What was worse? that she'd counted on him to rescue her, and he hadn't? or that she'd turned back into that helpless woman who needed to be protected every moment?_

She fought to keep her voice steady. "I thought I couldn't stand up to him alone. I thought that once you got back, you'd come and find me, and we'd figure it out together, and all I had to do was stay safe for a day or two."

His voice was hollow. "You can't put that all on me. What if I'd got killed? You wait to be rescued, you could be waitin' a long while. It's only a fluke you caught up to us this time. Tomorrow we coulda been gone."

"I'm sorry," she whispered, and he turned furious eyes on her.

"_Sorry_ don't help," he hissed. "You coulda died out there, waitin' for me to come, and it would've been my fuckin' fault. You coulda _died_, and I'd never have known it, because _I didn't come after you._ After all the times I promised myself I'd keep you safe..." His voice sank to a bare whisper. "I didn't come for you."

She felt every bitter, acid-tinged word like a blow. "You didn't have a choice, Daryl. You did what you had to do, and I wouldn't have had you do otherwise. I shouldn't have expected you to rescue me. I should have fought Rick and told him the truth and forced him to let me come back. Maybe I could have helped. Maybe if I'd been there Hershel wouldn't be dead."

"And maybe if you'd been there, you'd be dead, too." His shoulders sagged, and it was all she could do not to reach out to him and try to soothe the guilt he carried.

After a few moments he sighed, and rubbed his eyes. "I meant to come. I would have. It all went to hell so quick. One minute I'm hearin' you're gone, the next there's a tank at our gates and we're fightin' for our lives. There wasn't time. I'm so sorry. I didn't even know where to start lookin'. So every place I been, I left signs for you. I knew you'd understand."

"I did understand, and I do." She smiled sadly and said, "We're damned if we do, and we're damned if we don't, Daryl. We make our choices, and we live with them. We just have to keep trying to get it right."

"That sounds more like the warrior woman I know. I was beginnin' to think she'd got lost out there." He patted the ground next to him. "C'mere."

She inched over and leaned against him, his arms coming up to hold her lightly, his forehead resting on the back of her neck. "I been half-sick worryin' about you, darlin'. I ain't really slept since I heard you were gone."

She shifted against him and murmured, "You called me 'darlin'."

"Yeah, so I did. That alright with you?"

"It's more than alright with me, Daryl."


	5. Chapter 5

They stayed like that for a while, quiet. Then he stirred, and said, "You said, 'figure things out together'. Figure what out?" She knew from his tone that he wasn't just making conversation, not that he made a habit of idle chit-chat. They were done simply relaxing and being close. He'd read her like trail sign, took in all of her tells and knew there was more that she wasn't revealing. She chose to misunderstand his question, thinking she might distract him, give herself a little more time to get it all clear in her head.

"Figure out what to do about Rick. I needed you to stand with me, because I couldn't do it alone. You've said it yourself, we're no good on our own, that we need other..." Before she could finish he pushed her away and slid out from behind her, moving to crouch next to her. He leaned in almost menacingly, putting his lips next to her ear. "_Don't_ bullshit me, sister," he growled. "I deserve better than that from you, after all this time. I ain't talkin' about _supportin'_ each other, and you know it. I'm talkin' about _whatever it is you're hiding, _whatever it is we need to_ sort out. __Together__,_" he spat, like it was a curse. He rose and stood over her, waiting.

She kept her voice low, needing to explain herself to him before any of the others got involved. "I've made such a fucking mess of everything, Daryl. I thought I could deal with it myself and not have to drag you into it, but it all went wrong." After a minute he moved to sit on the floor next to her again, draping his arms over his knees, not touching her. Waiting. She bent over her own lap, talking to the concrete. "I should have come to you right away, instead of trying to handle it on my own. I should have known you would back me up, no matter what. That you would protect Lizzie, try to get her the help she needs."

He gaped at her. "_Lizzie_? You mean to tell me that _Lizzie_ took out Karen and David? But, the bodies - there ain't no way she had the strength to pull them outta their cells." He stopped, and shook his head. "You covered for her. _You_ burned the bodies." His voice didn't question; it was firm, like he completely understood why she would do such a thing. Even she wasn't as confident in her choice as he seemed to be.

"I think she hasn't been right for a while," Carol confessed, "maybe wasn't even before the Turn. It's not her fault, I think there's something wrong with her mind. She'd gotten some strange notions, like how she was with the walkers, wanting to give them names, treating them like they were oddball members of the family and not a constant danger to all of us." She took a deep breath, determined to carry it through. "She told me that Karen and David were suffering in their human bodies, and that she cut their throats so they'd bleed out more quickly, so they could turn and not be sick or afraid any more. The look in her eyes, Daryl... it made my blood turn to ice."

"If I'd only been there a few minutes sooner, maybe I could have stopped her. I put both of them down before they turned, and I burned their bodies so maybe it wouldn't show that their throats had been cut. I made her go back to her cell so she wouldn't see it. Maybe that was a mistake, too. Maybe I should have shown her, somehow, that they had been a real danger to her, not just people who were a little different. I don't even know anymore, what was the right thing to do. I just know I failed to keep her safe, even if it was from herself."

"I've made so many mistakes, Daryl. I didn't know how to help her, and I think I made it worse by trying to shield her." She turned panicky eyes on him, saying, "And now, God help me, she's _out there_, and what if she decides that someone else would be better off walking than living in pain?" She shuddered and slumped forward, sobbing, and he leapt to catch her, pulling her into his lap and holding her while he stroked her hair.

"Ah, Carol, I'm sorry you had to do that. Sorry you had to go through that by yourself. Jesus, what a clusterfuck."


	6. Chapter 6

Carol didn't understand how she could be so much at peace, after the shocks of the day: finding her home destroyed and her family gone, all of the devastating news she'd gotten since she caught up with them, the desperate uncertainties that lay ahead for all of them... The continued absence of so many, especially Ryan's daughters, whose care and well-being she still considered her personal responsibility. But in the arms of the man she… _loved, damn it, admit it, Carol, at least to yourself, you're in love with him… _she felt a stillness inside her that she couldn't remember ever feeling before. Like after the horrors of the world scraped away everything else - her stubborn belief in the basic goodness of people, her absurd optimism in the face of daily realities - this was all she had left, and all she needed - herself, and Daryl, and the moment.

"Your poor legs have to be falling asleep, Daryl." She shifted in his lap, trying to move off of him, but his arms tightened and held her in place. She could feel him shaking his head, silently.

"Don't want to move. Don't want _you_ to move. 'm afraid I'm asleep and if I move I'll wake up, and you won't be here." His voice was rough, strained, almost choking. If she wasn't sure such a thing was impossible, she might think Daryl was on the verge of crying.

She grasped his wrists, unclasped his hands from around her, turned and knelt between his legs. Carefully, hesitantly, she caught his chin between thumb and forefinger and turned his face to her. "Look at me, Daryl. I'm right here. Not going anywhere without you." The look of fear and hope in his blue eyes speared her through the heart, and she leaned in and softly pressed her lips to his. A ragged noise tore out of his throat, and as she slid forward to rest her cheek against his face, she thought she felt a hot tear slide against her skin. "Not going anywhere," she repeated.

His fingers dug slightly into her thighs, like he was desperate to keep contact with her body lest she disappear again. She felt him turn his face into hers, nuzzling her cheek and then seeking her lips with his own. His kiss was tentative at first, sweet, questing, investigating the taste of her, growing more intense when she opened her mouth and let her tongue dance over his bottom lip. His tongue met hers, and his hands came up abruptly and clamped over her hips, dragging her forward to straddle his thigh, her own slotting perfectly into the vee of his legs. She found her hands tangled in his hair as she kissed him, hard, needing as much contact as she could get, and instinctively ground herself against the hard thigh between her legs. He was making unconscious little gulping groans, straining to press himself up against her intruding thigh, his arms now wrapped around her back, pulling her tight up against his chest.

"Uh, guys?" Glenn's hesitant voice broke into their not-so-private reunion, and both Carol and Daryl pulled away, staring at each other and struggling to catch their breath before finally turning to Glenn, who wondered exactly how badly _fucked_ he was for having interrupted what was obviously a long-overdue, come-to-Jesus kind of moment. "Sorry. Sorry. I, uh..." He studied the oil-stained floor between his boots. "I really, really wish I didn't have to do this, but the rest of us are feeling like we kind of need to pick back up on things where we left off earlier. Figure out what we're doing next.

"I'm really glad you're here, Carol," he continued. "We've been talking in circles for a couple of days now, and never seem to make any progress. Plus we're all sick of hearing each other's opinions. Maybe you can help us break out of this stalemate." His relief at adding another trusted voice to the discussion was evident in his face.

"It's okay, Glenn. I'm sorry, we just kind of checked out on you for a while there, didn't we? We had - have - some things to sort through." Carol shot a look at Daryl, whose earlier openness with her had already vanished back behind the fringe that hung down in his eyes. "We'll be along in just a little bit." With Glenn diverted and sent to rejoin the rest, she turned her focus back to Daryl. She narrowed her eyes at him, watching him pick at his cuticles, looking like he could not be less engaged with the issues facing their group.

"Where did you just go, Daryl?", she asked quietly. This was not the time to be disconnecting; if they were going to be deciding things that meant their lives, they needed everyone to be present and have their heads in the game..

"I'm fine. Except I'm tired of always havin' to put off what's good for _us_ on account of what's good for the group. Ain't nothin' new, just tired of it, is all." His voice was discouraged and so, so worn out. Carol's heart ached, knowing that the discussions they were about to join would do nothing to ease that weight for him.


	7. Chapter 7

Daryl sighed, and said, "You know what's gonna happen now, don't you? We're gonna have to step up even more than before. Think we never found enough time together before? Ain't nothin' compared to what it's gonna be like now."

Carol's mind nearly went blank with confusion and shock. On one hand, Daryl was absolutely right - with Rick and Hershel gone, it would fall to them to fill the vacuum left by those absences. Glenn was still weak from the flu, and Maggie and Beth were devastated by their father's brutal death. The newer people were largely unknown quantities, but thus far only Sasha had shown the kind of resilience and backbone they'd need if they wanted to stay alive for long, let alone offer any kind of leadership to the rest.

On the other hand… _he had known he wanted more time with her before all of this, before he'd thought he'd lost her for good, and he hadn't done anything about it. He had wanted to be with her, and apparently found it too difficult to even try. _ Carol didn't know whether to cry, or punch him in the mouth.

On the third hand, the look on his face was so purely miserable that she did neither, and instead offered him a hand up off of the floor. She ached to see how slowly he rose to his feet, and asked, "are you sure you're okay? You're moving like you lost a fight."

He merely looked at her with a wry expression, like, _what kind of moron are you?_ and said, "nah, just a war," and suddenly she was laughing, tickled beyond her ability to hold it back, despite the horrible truth behind his comment. He pulled her into his arms and said, "God, it's good to hear your laugh again. Even though it ain't all that funny, really."

"No," she said. "Not funny, but true." She reached for his hand, and he laced his fingers through hers, and they went together to see what their future might hold.

* * *

The rest of their motley company had already gathered in the old prison bus so they could all sit together in moderate comfort. Many of the older Woodbury residents had hardly left it since they'd arrived days before, finding sitting or lying on the cold concrete floor to be too difficult.

The low murmur of conversation stilled as Carol stepped into the bus, with Daryl close behind her. She stood for a long moment, looking at all the faces that turned expectantly toward her. _Sixteen, seventeen… nineteen. Twenty-one, counting herself and Daryl. Twenty-one, out of nearly forty. Dear God. _ Carol shut her eyes against the flood of tears that threatened. She wanted nothing more than to run back down the stairs, go out the door and jump into her car and drive away. _What did they expect her to do?_ She felt Daryl's warm hand in the small of her back, and leaned the smallest bit into it, knowing he'd support her if she needed him to.


	8. Chapter 8

Carol opened her mouth, and what came out was not what she'd really meant to say. "It's so strange - so much has happened in the few days since I've seen you last, and I feel so out of touch. I keep thinking I need to see about getting dinner ready for all of you." A wave of chuckles rolled through the bus. She hadn't intended it to be funny, it was truly how she felt, but she realized that it might have been the best start she could have made. She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath.

"I know you all have been talking about what comes next - what we decide to do from here out - and I'm sorry to have missed all of that. I'm sure you've all made your preferences known by now. But at this point, I think you need to leave it up to the council - what's left of it, that is - to hash out the details and make a plan for going forward." As a babble of voices arose from the seats she looked to Glenn, Maggie, and Sasha, and found them nodding agreement. She felt a rush of relief; she hadn't consulted with anyone in advance, hadn't really even known for sure what she was going to say before she began, and even as she spoke she hadn't been confident of her right to speak so boldly.

"Of course, anyone who doesn't like whatever plans we come up with is perfectly within their rights to go on their way; we'll provide whatever we can in the way of supplies for your journey, although from what I've seen there's very little to go around." She looked around the bus again and found mostly resigned acceptance, mixed with a little uncertainty - about what she would expect after what they'd been through. No one wanted to think much about facing the world alone.

"I think that's it, for now." Carol was beginning to feel a little light-headed, and realized she hadn't had anything to eat since… sometime the previous day, probably. She felt her knees begin to shake, but before she could say another word, Daryl's hand was under her elbow, guiding her to sit on the nearest seat, and someone was saying something to her that she just couldn't focus on. She let herself sag against the seat back and closed her eyes.

* * *

"Carol." She could feel Daryl's arm around her, and his voice close by her ear. "Wake up, sweetheart." _Sweetheart. Hah. That was something she thought she could get used to._ "Carol, you need to eat somethin'. Ain't much, but we can't have you passin' out." She opened her eyes to see him holding out a power bar, and she was instantly, intensely hungry. She grabbed it and stuffed half of it in her mouth, oblivious to any niceties like taking small, ladylike bites.

"Whoa, slow down. It ain't going away, take your time or you'll make yourself sick." She smiled at him around her mouthful and forced herself to chew it thoroughly before swallowing. He held out a bottle of water and watched her down a third of it before taking it back.

He dropped his voice so only she could hear. "_Jesus fuckin' Christ,_ Carol. I know I said we'd need to step up, but…"

She bent her head and squeezed her eyes shut. "I'm sorry, I know I should have talked with you first. I'm not sure what got into me, I just didn't think I could take listening to the endless arguments, everyone having to have their say, and in the end it would fall to us to make the hard decisions anyway."

"Well, don't look now, darlin', but I think you just elected yourself mayor of this little tribe."


	9. Chapter 9

The reconstituted prison council convened its first meeting on one of the old buses in the depot yard. At first they just fell into the ripped-up bench seats and let themselves sag in place, grateful to be away from the pressure of all those pleading, terrified eyes, and looked around, each taking strength from the reassuring presence of the others. They were stronger together. Together they could take whatever the next steps would be.

Carol spoke up first. "I want to apologize for coming in here like gangbusters and maybe making more work for you all. I know I should have spent some time listening to people's ideas before I cut off debate like that, but…" she finished lamely, "I didn't want to." Daryl snorted, and Sasha smiled. "I got the feeling, though, that no one resented me doing it. Is that right?"

"Not at all, Carol," Sasha admitted. "We just couldn't seem to find agreement on anything - what direction we should head, what kind of place might serve to house us... and these people! Some of them were talking about looking to the government for help, like there's been anything left that resembled a central government for a year, or longer. It's been tough not to just slap some of them, but it's also hard to blame them when they've been so sheltered from the worst of it. I was grateful when you stepped up and put a stop to all of the endless tail-chasing. Now I feel like we can get down to some actual planning."

Glenn was pale, still, from his recent illness, but his voice was firm. "Before we get into anything else, Carol, I think we need to talk about where you were just before all the shit went down, and why. I'm assuming you've told Daryl what happened, and Maggie's told me what Rick told her, although I'm pretty sure there's got to be more to the story, and Sasha doesn't know - any of it?" His voice rose in question as he looked to Sasha. Her confused expression confirmed his assumption.

Carol drew a deep breath and looked around at them. "The day I went out with Rick on that run - the day before the prison fell - he exiled me, told me I couldn't come back to the prison with him." Sasha gasped, and Carol hurriedly went on. "I had told him I'd done something unforgivable…"

Glenn broke in, cutting to the heart of things. "You told him you killed Karen and David." This time Sasha was on her feet in an instant, backing away from where Carol sat.

"_You_ killed them?" Her voice was horrified and shaking. "You took her away from my brother? How could you?"

Daryl's hand came up to cover Carol's (_he always knows when I need him the most,_ Carol thought), and he interjected, "Siddown, Sasha. That ain't the whole story. Let her tell it." He turned to her and said, "They need to know the rest. The whole thing. They need to know they still can trust you."

Sasha's eyes narrowed. "But you trust her, Daryl?"

He nodded simply and said, "I love her. And I trust her with my life."

_There it was._ Carol felt her eyes well up, and fought the tears back. _After all this time, to hear him so matter-of-factly affirm his feelings for her in front of all of them…_ His hand tightened over hers, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking at the moment. She glanced over at him, thinking, _in all likelihood, he did._ His gaze was steady on hers, and he squeezed her hand again, urging her to go on.

Carol cleared her throat and continued. "I told Rick I killed them… but the truth is, I was covering… god, I'm sorry, this is so hard to say. I found them dead already. Their throats had been cut. It was… Lizzie." Her voice rasped out the name, her dread for the girl's safety, and the safety of those who might be with her, running over her like icy fingers on her skin.

She told it the way she'd already told Daryl: the child's eerily calm demeanor when explaining what she expected to happen to Karen and David, her own impulse to cover up the girl's crimes. Even how she had submitted to Rick's harsh judgment, believing that it would be only a short time before Daryl rode to her rescue. Her cheeks were hot with shame at that part, but she felt his thumb slide reassuringly over the pulse in her wrist, soothing her, telling her he didn't resent her putting him in that position.

Glenn's voice cut through her thoughts. "I need to talk to Maggie about this. She's been a mess since you got back, thinking she was so glad to see you alive but afraid to trust you after what Rick told her you did."

"Who else knows?" Carol quickly asked. "I mean, who else did Rick tell? Do we even know? I understand you need to talk to Maggie, but for Lizzie's sake, I'd just as soon keep the rest of the details to us." She still held a faint hope of finding the girls, and prayed it would be soon, before whatever dark impulse occupied Lizzie's heart took form again and another human being suffered for it.

"I think it's just us, and I'd like to keep it that way," said Glenn. "We'll have enough to deal with these folks; they can't even take care of themselves, but they've got an abundance of opinions about what we're neglecting to do for them on that count, and I don't want to give them any additional ammunition."

The Governor had crippled his people, Carol thought. Encouraged them to continue living like they had in the world Before, expecting that someone was always going to take care of problems for them, denying the constant threats that existed outside the walls of Woodbury. Shielded them from the hideous realities of flesh-eating corpses and packs of human sharks trolling the world looking for victims. Part of her had envied them their ignorance, but no longer. They needed to wake up to harsh truths, now, before their naivete cost her anyone else in her family.

As sickening as she found it to admit, even to herself, she knew that she would have a hard time putting the safety of someone she'd known superficially for a few months over that of the people she'd spent almost two hard, grueling years with, living and suffering and trying to survive. While the Woodbury people slept in soft beds and never had to think about where their next meal was going to come from. It wasn't their fault they didn't have the kind of survival skills they should, but they needed to face facts: everyone needed to step up their game, learn to take care of themselves. So maybe Rick hadn't been entirely wrong - she wasn't the same person she used to be. This woman was harder, colder, less willing to compromise. Leadership didn't mean doing everything for others; it meant teaching them how to do for themselves, and if she was honest with herself, they hadn't done nearly enough at the prison to make sure their newest members learned that. And sometimes leadership meant hard truths, like the fact that not all of them were going to make it.


	10. Chapter 10

Late in the evening, well after the impromptu council meeting had broken up, Carol made her way out to the broken-down school bus where Daryl was keeping watch. Her old hobo bag swung against her hip, holding a couple of cans of tuna, one of creamed corn, and a slightly rusty can opener from the bug-out kit on the prison evacuation bus.

Daryl perched on the roof, his legs dangling over the side. She knew he was aware of her presence, but his eyes never stopped scanning the road and the woods beyond, on the alert for any sign of company.

She paused by the hood, spotting the step by the wheel well that was supposed to provide access to the engine compartment, but she couldn't quite figure out how she was supposed to get up to it on her own.

"_Psst_." Daryl's head swiveled in her direction, peering down at her. "Little help here?"

"Milk crate by the back wheel. Should give you enough of a boost." He kept his voice low.

Aided by the additional step, she climbed up on the hood, and Daryl rose to extend a hand to get her up on the roof.

"Brought you some dinner," she said.

"Already got you cookin' again, I see," Daryl commented.

"Opening cans is hardly cooking." She joined him at the edge, cutting open the first can of tuna. "Wait a second, I don't want to get this all over the place." She leaned out to drain the water off the canned fish, and felt herself start to slip off the roof's curved edge.

"Jesus, Carol!" Daryl's hand shot out to grab her by the waistband, dragging her back a few inches. Her heart hammering, she pushed herself back further, and looked over at him apologetically.

"Sorry, that was stupid of me. Thanks for catching me." Her relief after the close call made her get a little light-headed, and she started to giggle, covering her mouth with her hand to keep the sound in check. Daryl's grunt of exasperation only made it worse, and she laid back and wrapped her arms around her stomach, trying madly to hold in her laughter.

"If you can't be quiet, you're gonna have to go inside," he said sternly, and she turned on her side and curled into a ball, silently shaking.

Finally she ran out of air and pushed herself back upright, wiping her eyes with the heels of her hands, which she suddenly realized were still covered with the liquid from the tuna can. "Oh, great, tuna juice," she snickered, and nearly went off on another giggle fit, but Daryl's glare brought it quickly under control. "Okay. I'm okay now. Sorry," and she gulped a breath of air.

"Here, gimme the rest," Daryl ordered. She brought out the can of creamed corn, and she saw a glimmer of a smile on his face. "My favorite," he said.

"I know. I sort of pulled rank to get that for you," Carol said. "Apparently this being in charge thing has its perks."

She reached inside her jacket and brought out a single spoon and a fork. "We'll have to share. I promise I don't have any germs."

"Little late to be findin' out if you did, seein' as how we were swappin' spit a coupla hours ago."

Carol was grateful for the moonlight, since it meant he probably couldn't see the color rise in her cheeks. _Yes, indeedy. Swapping spit, as he so delicately put it, and grinding on each other like a couple of horny teenagers. Probably just as well the presence of an audience kept us from going any further with it_, she thought, and felt a deep pang of regret.

They sat companionably, passing the cans and utensils back and forth, still keeping an eye out for potential trouble. It was a familiar scene, eating from cans, just as they'd done throughout those lean months after the farm, before they'd found the prison and started to rebuild some sort of stability. And now that had been ripped away, leaving them a pack of scavengers once again, combing through the bones of the old world for the bare means of survival. Carol felt a wave of despair slash through her, and wondered if she had the resilience to do it all over again.

She shivered, and felt Daryl's attention on her. "You cold?" he asked.

"Mm. Not really." She wanted him to put his arm around her, but felt inexplicably shy about asking for such a public display of his affection, despite the dark, and despite how he'd been with her earlier. It was silly, but they'd spent too much time dancing around this thing between them for her to take it for granted that he'd be comfortable with it.

He shifted closer to where she sat, and she leaned toward him, not only for the warmth he was putting out, but just wanting… closeness. He was all business, though, never losing his focus on the task at hand.

"How much longer are you supposed to be out here?" she wondered aloud.

"Not sure. Couple hours, maybe. Glenn's up next. Why?"

"No reason, really, I just… oh, Daryl, because I just want to go somewhere off in a corner and curl up next to you and feel safe for a little while. It's sort of ridiculous, really. I'm safer right this minute than I have been in a week, but it would make me feel better if I could fall asleep and know that you're right there. I've been missing you so badly it hurt." She had no more patience for artifice and side-stepping. She just wanted to be with her man, and have him hold her again like he had earlier. Her skin had been hungry for him for so long, and the little time they'd had together earlier in the day had only intensified the longing. She knew there wouldn't be any opportunity for them to be intimate with each other, not in the wide-open space of the depot, but she'd take whatever she could get for the moment.

"Ah, Carol, honey…" He slid over and put his arm around her waist, kissing the side of her head. "I hate thinkin' of you bein' out there, feelin' like a lost soul. I'm so sorry I didn't do right by you."

"You stop that kind of thinking right now, Daryl." Her voice got a little sharp. "We've been over this once. I told you I don't hold it against you, and I meant it. You had other things to take care of. I'm talking about _now_, and from here out. No more regrets about what we did or didn't do for each other in the past."

"I got a lot of regrets, though, Carol. Not just that I didn't come find you when the prison fell. I shoulda stepped up a long time ago and told you how it was for me. I shoulda told you I loved you. Shoulda told you every day, and kissed you every day, so you'd know it, instead of bein' a fool and holdin' back."

The sweet simplicity of his admission undid her, and tears welled up in Carol's eyes. She dabbed at them with her sleeve, not wanting to spoil the moment by making him uncomfortable. "That doesn't matter anymore, Daryl. We're here, together, and I know you love me." Saying those words made her realize - she hadn't said them herself, not out loud, and it made her laugh, softly.

"I'm such an idiot. Daryl Dixon, I am crazy mad in love with you, and I'm sorry I didn't say that until now."


End file.
